


Les Anges des Demons Viennent (Angels from Demons Come)

by melanie1982



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Grief, Loss, Love, remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death. Stillbirth. Grief. Graphic childbirth. Slavery references.Louis remembers his brief married life and subsequent brush with fatherhood.Fiction.I made up names for pre-existing characters, all of whom are original to Anne Rice (albeit unnamed by her). I make no money from this work of fiction.
Relationships: Louis de Pointe du Lac/his wife
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Les Anges des Demons Viennent (Angels from Demons Come)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MonycaGabryela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonycaGabryela/gifts).



Louis spent many nights in his family plot, willing himself to sink into the earth, to be fodder for the worms and other organisms which made their home underground.

The angel marking the tomb had been crafted by the finest sculptor in all New Orleans, a master trained in the old ways, one Gilbert de Maupassant. Gilbert had worked for the aristocracy of Paris in happier times, before 'la Terruer' had forced him to flee for the new world. Louis made his supplications to that unwavering angel, pouring out his heart (and, often, the contents of his inebriated body) at her feet. Often, he awoke there, his cheek pressed against the stone, vomitus caked upon his hair and skin. It was what he deserved; his selfish passions had consumed poor Melanie, costing her her life, as well as the life which had grown within her for nine months. 

"Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa," Louis would repeat, beating his chest. The alcohol dampened the pain, but did not wipe it out completely. It was fresh every morning, and as the day wore on, it grew with the shadows. With the setting of the sun, Louis fought the state of death-like sleep. Once, nightfall had been his favorite time of all, the time when any pretense of work could be folded and put away, and the arts de l'amour could be practiced. Married life had surprised him with endless delights; rather than having to keep a whore on call or risk being shorted, he found that his wife was most agreeable to his pursuits, indulging his every predilection with wide-eyed abandon. Louis had had few virgins in his twenty and four years of life, and Melanie surpassed them all in her appetite to learn and to please. 

Fair of hair, fair of face, with eyes like the sea, somewhere between blue and green, she had been a great beauty - but, for all his capacity for vanity, it was her soul which had captivated him. A total ingenue, Louis had found it easy to paint upon her canvas whatever he desired to see, whether it be a political view, a fashion statement, or a new variation of an age-old pleasure.

She had fallen pregnant almost immediately upon marrying him, which was inevitable, given their propensity to make love multiple times each night. Once, twice, three times she had bled, but it had always been early, the loss, minimal. There would be another, and another beyond that; Melanie would bear him a carriage-house' worth of fine sons, and round it out with a few lovely daughters. 

The final pregnancy had been so different to the others, with his wife becoming nauseous at dawn each day for weeks on end. She could scarcely sit upright in her bed without retching, but the physician took it as a good sign that this child was resilient; this child would stay.

Her breasts grew, to their mutual delight, followed by her belly. Louis had a fancy to hire artists to paint her portrait, to capture her rounded form and motherly glow for all time, but Melanie had laughed at this. "You will see me in this state often enough that you will not need a painting for reference," she had teased. 

There had been much to purchase: reproductions of their current furniture, faithfully resized for a child's form; fashionable eyelets and the softest folding squares for le pipi et la merde; wonderful toys, suitable for an infant.. Melanie, adapting to her American life, had insisted she did not want a wet nurse, while Louis, with an eye towards future fertility, had simply smiled, content that she would reconsider once the baby arrived. One of the local girls would be glad of the employment in such a fine household, and the baby would scarcely know the difference.

Melanie was often tired, but Louis' mother and married sisters all reassured him that this was quite normal. Fainting, too, was commonplace, although it was not usual for it to continue on into the final months as Melanie's did. Still, what was to be done for it? Once the baby arrived, her body would have a brief respite, the field laying fallow for a season before the plowing resumed.

In the seventh month came a slight episode of fever, requiring total bedrest for three days. For those three days, no work was done; Louis kept vigil by his wife's side, ready to attend to her every need personally.

With the fever behind them, things progressed smoothly for a few weeks. Melanie, although very large by this time, was in good spirits, and both parents were anxious to meet their baby. As the due date approached, Melanie found it impossible to maintain her normal routine, taking to her bed once more. Louis indulged her, pampered her, doted upon her; when she bemoaned her laziness, he assured her that she was doing God's work, and fulfilling her natural role as his wife. Although he longed to be intimate with her again, Louis knew that it would wait, just a few weeks more.

The labor had started at sunset on the evening of August 10, 1793. At first, Louis had permitted his most trusted slave girl, Yvette, to attend the birth, but as the hours wore on and Melanie's pain had become unbearable, the doctor had been summoned.

As the stars emerged, visible through the window of the master suite, Melanie had begun to hemorrhage, losing consciousness for several minutes. The physician arrived, shouting at the slave to get out, demanding to know what evil, superstitious concoctions had been administered to the mother. Louis had protested the girl's innocence and sincere efforts to help, but Yvette had to be sent out, or the physician would not proceed.

He bled Melanie - a pint and a half, to start with, followed by more. She had thrashed and moaned, muttering oaths in French and English, calling out for her dead mother. Louis had watched, helpless, pacing, praying, longing for his brother's unwavering faith. He vowed to build a shrine to Mary on his own property, if only the Holy Mother would deliver his wife from this ordeal. He could not bring himself to give utterance to his basest emotion: He was prepared to lose the child in order to save his wife. The physician, however, seemed more intent on extracting the child than on healing the vessel, for another wife was easy enough to procure, but a healthy son - ! That was a valuable prize, indeed.

"My love.."

The voice emanating from Melanie's lips was hers, and yet not hers. The depth of pain and the grip of fear were so evident, Louis wanted to leave the room to be away from it. Dr. Bechard had bellowed for hot water; Yvette had been the one to bring it, sparking yet another shouting match and vain accusations of curses and demonic influences. 

Shouting forcefully enough to be heard above it all, Louis had silenced the two of them, kneeling down beside his wife's bed.

"I'm here. What is it?"

"The baby.. is tainted. I should not have.. enjoyed the making of it. I have.. sinned.."

Louis' heart had fallen. His wife blamed her ill health and all other current troubles on her love and desire for him. That would not do.

"God does not condemn the marriage bed, my love; He blesses it."

She shook her head, her hair matted in place by the sweat of her brow. "I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. I lusted after you, and now this is the punishment. This - ahhhh - "

Yvette broke away from her standoff with Bechard, opening the window, letting the air flow in - or so Louis believed.

The fresh draughts did seem to revive his wife for a few moments. Her face became calm; her eyes, still shimmering, were more focused. 

"My dear husband. To know and love you makes life, and death, beautiful."

Death? "We shall have a child soon, and you speak of death?"

Melanie caressed his face, her hand falling away as her fingertips reached his chin. Her eyes rolled back, her body convulsing.

Dr. Bechard produced a set of forceps, gripping them with grim determination. "Move aside, Monsieur, please."

Louis, in shock, did as he was commanded. Yvette continued to look out of the window, hearing all, feeling all, yet willing her presence to be forgotten.

With difficulty, the baby was extracted, but as the minutes wore on, no sign of life followed. Louis was in a state of denial; surely, at least one of them must live. God would not be so cruel as to rob him of his wife and child in one blow, not after losing his brother - 

Dr. Bechard wrapped the child in a blanket, with only the face visible. He seemed to have aged ten years in ten minutes. Somewhere in the room, Louis heard the sound of weeping; with a start, he realized it was coming from him.

"What - - what -- how..?"

Bechard snapped his case shut. "I have done what I could. I delivered the child, but.."

But? That was all - nothing more? 

Louis was becoming hysterical. "Doctor, please; my wife.."

Dr. Bechard laid the baby on the bed, nestled into its mother's arm. "Call the priest; he is the only one who can help your family now."

Yvette was still at the window, never turning around until she felt certain that Melanie's spirit had departed, along with the child's. 

She made herself walk towards the bed, looking at the mother and child.

Louis was out of his mind, out of his body; he was not making any sense. 

"She's so beautiful," he murmured, staring at the pair on the bed.

"Who, sir?"

"Both of them. They're so.."

Yvette knew that it was very wrong for any person to own other people. She also knew that her master was far kinder than many in the area, and that he had just lost his wife and child. Compassion won out, and she risked retribution by offering condolences.

"What are you going to name her, sir?"

He was drifting into the fog of despair. "What?"

Yvette urged him to hold her, and he balked at first. 

"She's still warm. She's perfect."

Louis took the child into his arms. It was true; if you overlooked her absolute stillness, it was if the baby was merely asleep.

"We were going to name her Felice," he confided. "Felice Celine for a girl; Paul Rene for a boy."

Yvette nodded. "Shall I send for the priest, sir?"

Louis sat, carefully, upon the bed, mindful not to disturb his wife as he laid the child between them. "Please."

'Please,' and nothing more.

Yvette left on her mission. Louis began to descend into his pain, willing his heart to stop, his lungs to fail. 

Father Donovan arrived, taking over the arrangements. Louis was largely uninvolved, directing his best men in how to procure the caskets, ordering the finest statuary modeled on Melanie's face, and settling the bills. It all seemed so removed, as if his married life and expectant fatherhood had all been a fever-dream. Life became a series of moments, none of them quite real.

Only when mother and daughter had been laid to rest, and the stone put into place, did it sink in.

This would be as close as Louis would get to his two great loves until his life was ended - the sooner, the better.

"You were wrong, my love," Louis often addressed the statue. "You believed our suffering, our fate, was because of your desire for me, but you forgot that, just as demons may spawn angels, from angels, demons may come."

It was all his fault, and, somehow, someday, Louis felt certain, he would pay the ultimate price.

His self-prophecy would come true in time, with the arrival of a dark angel, but that is another story, one which we all know very well. 

This, this is the story of the weeping angel who watched over our human Louis, and who stands today, always waiting, always wanting, always ready to love and please her husband once again.


End file.
